Popcorn and Memories
by promisetokeep
Summary: Dean and Castiel watch TV, but mostly a flashback to how their relationship started. Oneshot. Fluffy stuff mostly, with some confused!-, insecure!-, and angry!Dean mixed in.


Cas had wanted to see some of Dean's favorite TV shows for a while. He thought it might help him to understand more of the references Dean was always making, and Dean had been wanting to re-watch the early seasons of Star Trek. So it was that on that particular Wednesday afternoon in late November, the two men found themselves popping pop corn, cracking open a couple of beers, and settling into the couch. It had been four months since that day when Dean's self control broke down - not that he was counting. Cas was still trying to sell his "I was stronger than you" line, and something inside Dean just snapped; "You son of a _bitch_," and he punched the angel straight in the nose, his eyes watering as the impact reverberated through his fist and up his arm. Cas had recoiled, his eyes filled with all that damn emotional pain that made Dean remember _every damn time he looked at Cas_ how much pain he himself was in. He was cradling his arm when Cas reached out, his cool fingers resting on Dean's red, smarting knuckles.

"I know it makes you uncomfortable when I talk like this, but if I don't say anything you are going to keep punching me and hurting yourself." His power had already healed Dean's hand, the cool, whispery sensation working it's literal miracle, but he kept his hand in place. Dean looked down at the two hands, then back up into Castiel's wide, concerned eyes. "I have waited for you for my entire existence, and I have sacrificed everything for you on multiple occasions, and yet for so long I didn't even realize that the bond we shared meant more to me than the bond I have with my brothers and sisters in heaven. But Dean, I finally understand why I always come for you, why you are the tether that binds me to this earth and place in time - I love you, Dean." Dean's brow was furrowed, his lips were twisting, horror and rage and resistance were boiling in his gut.

"If I wait too much longer you are going to die for good, and I can't let you go without telling you this, though I know it will bring you no peace. I'm in love with you." Dean pulled back sharply from the angel, the horror now clearly written on his face.

"No, Cas, not this, you can't fucking do this to me," he turned away, running his hand over his head, at a loss as to what he should do. So much was going on in his mind. "Please just leave me, ok Cas? Don't bother coming back." There was a rustle of clothes, and when Dean looked around Cas was gone.

So much in his mind, as he sank to the dingy hotel couch. _Why was Cas gay GAY this wasn't right, he liked WOMEN think man think of all the chicks you've banged, how much you love Sexy Busty Asians, how much STRAIGHT sex you've had in your lifetime, and now one of the few people who you've let yourself love is gay and how can we be friends now that this? Could I? - NO no fucking way that would mean doing stuff like - FUCK no, okay so now you have to cut out Cas, but how do you cut out part of yourself because that's how much you rely on Cas, how big a part of your entire existence he is I mean hell there're two people you keep on keeping on for and one's Sammy and the other is this completely mad angel who is in love with you. _

Dean had slid off the couch and was sitting on the floor, knees to his chest, head in his hands. There was too much happening in his mind and something was making a really harsh raspy sound and Dean suddenly realized it was coming from him, he was sobbing. And he couldn't do anything about it, just sat there heaving and crying out, gasping for breath, with his tears making spots on his jeans and pooling on the linoleum floor. All he wanted was to go back in time, to the moment just before he hit Cas - and then not hit him. Go on being friends and never be this confused and afraid and angry and alone.

The first month after Dean broke down and hit Cas, the two did not speak, were never alone together. It was all Sam could do to not break either of their necks. But the next month Sam took a break to visit Abigail, and Garth caught up with Dean to work on a case. He knew something was more off than usual, and he prodded and prodded and finally the night they finished the case Dean finished two cases of beer and spilled the whole thing out to Garth, who sat calmly and listened to the slurred and extremely confused version of what he had suspected all along.

"Dean," the typical sincerity that Garth exuded didn't put off Dean the way it usually did. "You already know how you feel about Cas, that's what's got you so torn up, y'idjit. If you didn't love him back you'd just feel sorry for the guy. Do you feel sorry for Cas?"

Dean blinked up at Garth from his recumbent position on the couch. "I don't feel sorry for him, I just don't know, I'm not a queer or something," his eyes welled with tears but he scrunched his face, angrily scrubbing at his eyes.

"You silly goose," Garth chuckled. "You ain't queer, yer bisexual, and besides, Cas is an angel, so he can't really have a gender anyway. When was the last time you loved a lady like you love him though? You should call him up, cause I know you two need a hug and a talk." Garth got to his feet. "Now if you'll excuse me I have some calls to make and I might be gone all night."

Dean sat immobile for several long minutes, then in a broken whisper he said, "Cas?"

That night they sat on the couch and talked some, and then Cas moved closer and put his arm around Dean's shoulders. And Dean realized what Cas had before him: this love, this closeness, these were where his feelings strayed from those he felt for his brother. This was more than sibling love. He leaned his head into Castiel's arm and the angel's free hand reached up and stroked his cheek in slow, soft brushes. That night Dean lay cradled in the arms of an angel who had waited four and a half billion years to hold him.

So it was that two months and three weeks later - definitely still not counting - the two men were settled down into the couch of Bobby's old Dakota cabin, Dean's laptop already playing the opening credits of the show. This time Dean had his arm around Cas, his free hand tangled up in Cas's, their breaths deep and slow. Castiel was staring intently at the screen, as was his habit when watching TV. Dean, who had this particular episode practically memorized, watched his angel surreptitiously from the corner of his eye. He was trying to force himself for the hundredth time that day - and millionth time since August - to believe that this was really happening. The warm body under his hands was Castiel, was here because he wanted to be, because he had chosen to be. This man who was older than Dean was even comfortable considering had fallen in love (so he claimed) with Dean, when Dean was oblivious and messed up and confused and broken.

His reverie was broken when Cas glanced up his eyes crinkling in the smile he seemed to save for Dean alone. For those few moments Dean could forget his fears of abandonment and inadequacy, that smile imparting all Castiel's love and care and friendship, unconditional.

"Are you going to watch this? You don't want to miss anything," Dean murmured.

Castiel brought their entwined fingers to his lips in a delicate, warm kiss.

"No, you're right: I don't want to miss this."

And for the first time in two months and three weeks - hell, for the first time since he had met Castiel - Dean believed that this was real.


End file.
